Colourblind
by XxFearTheFluffxX
Summary: Black: It was impossible. Maka was Maka. She knew without trying that that's all she'd ever be. And that's why, if Soul decided to leave her for a better partner, she wouldn't stop him. -A collection of oneshots inspired by song Colourblind, SoulxMaka-
1. Blue

-X-

_Feeling blue_

_When I'm trying to forget the feeling that I miss you_

-X-

They were partners – therefore it was rare for them to be apart. They were Meister and Weapon. A team; a unit. Without each other they were next to helpless, and neither Soul nor Maka had ever liked being helpless.

Given that as absolute fact, was it really so unreasonable for him to feel so... so _down?_ Sure, okay; maybe they weren't exactly joint at the hip all the time, but at least they were usually in the same _country_. Soul wouldn't admit it aloud – had trouble, in fact, even admitting it to himself – but it made him uneasy to know his partner was so far away. He itched uncomfortably with the knowledge that there was a four hour plane journey separating them, when as a rule he'd tried to avoid having more than a ten minute dash between them.

But of course, it wasn't cool to continually mull over something he couldn't change. Maka was in Ireland visiting her Mama and she wouldn't be back for three more days.

Soul would just have to distract himself till then.

Not that he hadn't already tried. When she first left, almost four days ago, he'd blocked out the sick feeling in his stomach by forcing his company on their friends. It hadn't been a half bad idea to begin with – it had actually worked really well for the most part. At least until he found himself helping Liz and Patty pick out new underwear from the fancy lingerie store in Cobble Street...

That's when Soul had decided – for his own good – that it was time to find a new method of distraction.

As of yet, he hadn't found anything viable. He'd tried a DVD marathon but most of their meagre collection belonged to Maka, and he could safely say he wasn't a chick-flick kind of guy. He'd then tried reading to ease the distress in his gut (which _wasn't, _he insisted to himself, loneliness), but he never _had_ been a patron of the written word, and it only succeeded in making him drowsy. Walking didn't work. Riding his bike didn't work either. Even eating in his favourite fast food restaurants didn't work – after all, he could only eat so much.

So in the end he gave in and did the one thing he'd been trying to avoid. He thought about Maka.

He supposed, since there was no one around in his head to hear it, there was no harm in confessing that he missed her. It was to be expected; they _had_ spent almost every day together since the day they met. They even livedtogether for pity's sake. Maka was, for all intents and purposes, Soul's best friend – a sister of sorts. It was only natural he'd feel her absence so strongly.

And he did a bang up job of trying to convince himself that that was the full extent of it.

Only he _couldn't _convince himself. Not completely. Soul was many things – a slacker, an egotist, a cynic – but he wasn't an idiot. He knew his missing Maka had more to it than mere friendship. He had plenty of friends, but he'd never missed any of them like he missed Maka. What he felt when Maka was gone was stronger than that.

There was probably a name for the feeling. At least he assumed there was, because everything had a name in one way or another. Doubtless Maka could tell him what it was – he had the distinct impression that girl was born with a book in her hands. But for Soul, there were some things his lacking vocabulary just couldn't grasp. This was one of those things. The best way he could describe the feeling – that aching in his belly and gnawing in his chest, the uncharacteristic sombreness which coloured his every action – was... was...

… 'blue'.

Yes, 'blue' fit the emotion quite well. It wasn't exact, but then what did it matter? It was good enough.

Soul's mournful thoughts were interrupted by a soft rap on the door and he let out an irritated sigh. It was probably Blair, locked out again because she'd forgotten her key. If she really wanted, she could just use her pumpkin magic to get in. But Maka had made it clear to the sexy kitty that breaking their door down again would not be received with good humour.

With an exaggerated yawn, Soul dragged his butt off the couch where he'd been vegetating in front of some weird soap opera, and slouched to the door, grabbing the key off the hook as he went.

"Blair, how many times do I have to tell ya? If you're gonna be out all night take a damn key." he mumbled, fumbling sleepily with the lock. It was one a.m; she was just lucky he was still awake or she'd have been out there all night.

But when he pulled the door open, it wasn't a scantily clad Blair who greeted him.

It was a less suggestively dressed (yet somehow moreappealing) Maka who stood in the hallway, looking him up and down with a critical eye as she took in the dark room and buzzing television.

"Awake at this hour, Soul? I knew your sense of routine would go to pot when I left."

Soul just stared stupidly, not sure if he was awake or dreaming or hallucinating.

She certainly _looked_ like Maka. Those bright green eyes and blonde pigtails were hard to mistake, even as tired as he was. She was dressed in a blue and white floral-pattern summer dress (no doubt her mother's work) with a denim jacket and black and white Converse trainers, but despite the odd, decidedly un-Maka attire, she still had the aura of his trusty partner.

The only thing was, she wasn't due back yet.

"Maka?"

Maka nodded tiredly – now that he really looked, he saw she had dark circles under her eyes – and pushed past him into their apartment, wheeling her modest grey suitcase behind her. Abandoning her luggage near the door, she tossed her jacket on the kitchen table and headed straight to the fridge, extracting a carton of orange juice and wrinkling her nose when she discovered it to be empty.

"Geez, Soul. Do you _have_ to leave the carton in the fridge when it's empty?"

Oh yeah, it was Maka alright.

"I thought you were gonna be in Ireland till Thursday? What're you doing back so early?" His words were blunt and unaffected. No one would be able to tell by listening that he'd just been thinking how much he wanted her home. And being a cool guy, he'd be damned if he was ever cluing anyone in.

Maka shrugged, closing the fridge and instead filling herself a glass of water. She drunk it in a oner and set the empty glass on the sink, turning to meet Soul's bored gaze with a thoughtful expression of her own.

"Why? Are you complaining about it?"

This time it was Soul's turn to shrug. "No. I just thought you wanted to spend more time with your mom."

She considered him a moment before stifling a yawn and striding to her bedroom.

"I enjoyed seeing Mama, but for some reason I couldn't sleep while I was there. It didn't feel right." she drawled, glancing over her shoulder at him. "I guess you could say I was feeling kind of... blue."

Soul blinked. Maka shut her bedroom door and he was alone once again... though he no longer felt it.

With a perplexed grimace he quickly shut off the TV and locked the door again, heading to bed with a mind no longer full of anxious thoughts. Well, no anxious thoughts but one...

Sometimes it really did scare him how closely his and Maka's souls resonated

-X-

**Okay, this is the first in a series of oneshots based around Soul and Maka. The series was inspired by Darius' song Colourblind and will probably have about 6 or 7 stories in it. Do enjoy. ^_^**


	2. Green

-X-

_Feeling green_

_When the jealousy swells and it won't go away in dreams_

-X-

There was something about all of her female friends that really pissed Maka Albarn off. She wasn't even going to pretend she didn't know what it was, because although it would make her feel slightly better if she did, that would be downright pathetic. Well, more pathetic than it already was in any case.

What bugged Maka about her girl friends wasn't that they were all older than her; nor was it that they were all (_technically_) stronger that her, being that they were Weapons (or in Blair's case, a powerful cat) and she was just a Meister. It wasn't even that they were taller than her, which was annoying, yes, but not unbearable.

No, what _really _got Maka's goat was much more childish – much more pitiful – than that.

It was their boobs.

Actually, that was too vague. It wasn't their boobs as such, but what their boobs symbolised that irritated her. Without a doubt they were all well endowed, far more so than she was, and their large breasts made the four of them – Blair, Tsubaki, Liz and Patty – something she was not. It made them _pretty_. Attractive. Beautiful, gorgeous, hot... there were any number of adjectives, but they all meant the same thing. And none of them could be applied to Maka.

Admittedly it wasn't just their boobs that made them pretty. They had wide, flowing hips too, and nice eyes and pretty faces... But, ashamed though it made her to confess it, it was the boobs that bothered her most. Because it was boobs that the guys tended to notice. Maka, unlike her curvaceous pals, was as flat as a cheeseboard and therefore – logically – far less attractive than them.

And she wouldn't lie; the knowledge did chafe somewhat.

It wasn't like she was vain or anything. Vanity was one of the very last things Maka could be accused of. But she _was_ a girl, and all girls wanted to feel pretty at least some of the time. More than that, all girls wanted to be _thought_ of as pretty, if for no other reason than to boost their self-confidence and sense of worth – sad but true. Maka was no different.

That was why she got so mad at Soul when he got nosebleeds over Blair all the time. He was her partner, but he'd made it glaringly clear that she held about as much sexual interest for him as a pair of Black Star's old socks. She understood that. She accepted it, even if it stung a little (and it _did _sting, for reasons she could never seem to muster the courage to confront). But she hated having it thrust in her face that what she lacked, the females in her life more than made up for.

It was this very topic – the topic of her beauty, or lack thereof – that had Maka fuming in her bedroom that glorious Saturday morning.

It had happened at breakfast, which in itself wasn't so surprising – that's when such things usually happened, because Blair was at her most playful and Soul at his most vulnerable. Soul had been eating his cereal quietly at the table, still groggy because like she said, he'd never really been a morning person. Maka, and she remembered this part very distinctly, had been frying two eggs in a pan on the stove. All in all, it had started out a peaceful morning. The kind of morning that practically _invited_ disaster with it's chipper perfection. And in the Soul Eater household, disaster was the norm.

All of a sudden – the only way things ever seemed to happen in their apartment – Blair fell on the unsuspecting Demon Scythe with a happy squeal and a singsong greeting of 'Morning, Soul!'. She'd pressed her lascivious assets up against his face (which, Maka noted, she seemed to rather enjoy doing) and naturally, Soul had fallen victim to what Maka now thought of as 'the consequences of depravity' – meaning his nose had promptly started to gush blood like a novelty fountain.

Predictably their small kitchen had exploded into chaos, and Maka had ended up stomping to her bedroom in a rage after panning her poor partner's skull in with a good Maka-chop.

It wasn't his fault she knew. Not really. He _was_ a guy after all, and they were all the same at their most basic level. Could he help it if Blair kept throwing herself at him? It's not as if he could tell himself _not_ to be turned on by her.

But still... even if it wasn't his fault, Maka couldn't help but compare his reaction to Blair to his reaction to her. And that too stung a little, whether she wanted to examine the feeling closely or not.

A knock at the door roused her from her self-deprecating thoughts, and she glanced up from the book she'd been attempting to bury her frustrations in – a hardback volume titled 'The Art of the Pianist' that, ironically enough, she'd borrowed from the library in an attempt to understand her idiot partner better.

"Go away, Soul." Maka snapped, her soul perception easily identifying the troubled wavelength of her weapon behind the closed door. "I don't want to be disturbed."

But of course Soul didn't listen. In a move that had to be admired for it's sheer audacity, he turned the knob and entered despite her warning. That was where his nerve ended though – even someone as dense as Soul knew better than to approach the bed, where Maka currently lay on her stomach in quiet resentment. He could clearly see the book spread before her (the same one she'd clobbered him with earlier) and it wouldn't take much provocation for her to pick it up and Maka-chop him into next week.

"You coming?" he drawled placidly, hands in the pockets of his cream-coloured slacks.

He looked kind of sheepish, and she got a certain vindictive pleasure from that. Maka eyed her soul mate distastefully for a second, scowling at his slouched form as he proceeded to lean indifferently against her door frame. How she hated him in that moment. How she hated his messy white hair, pinned away from his face with that headband of his; how she loathed his bored red eyes, which pierced her through without him really needing to try; how she despised his composed demeanour, his ability to look cool even when he was supposed to be ashamed of himself.

Instead of vocalising a response, she snorted derisively and turned her back to him, continuing to read her book and giving him the cold shoulder. The message surely couldn't get any clearer.

She heard him sigh.

"Don't you ever get tired of being green? What're you getting so jealous about?"

Maka spun, angry and slightly red faced – she had every intention of denying it, but that didn't make it any less true. And it irked her that Soul, of all people, should know that.

"I'm not jealous!" she cried, readying her book to toss at his big head. But to her surprise, Soul was no longer by the door. He was standing right next to her bed, towering above her with a smirk, an eyebrow raised in mocking.

Okay, so maybe he _didn't _know better than to approach her bed.

"Yeah, and I'm not cool." he chuckled, sitting on the edge with fake nonchalance. For all his fronts, Maka could still feel the hesitance in his wavelength as he glanced at the hand holding the heavy book. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing," Maka growled, turning away from him again. "Just leave me alone."

The hand on her shoulder was unexpected when it came, but not as unexpected as finding herself flat on her back before she could even register the movement. It wasn't as unexpected as finding herself rendered immobile by the weight of her Weapon's body straddling her either. And it certainly wasn't as unexpected as the fact that said Weapon's forehead soon found itself pressed firmly against her own.

"S-Soul! What're you _doing_? Get off m-," she roared, trying in vain to heave her grinning (and decidedly heavy) best friend off of her.

"Nah, don't reckon I will." Soul smirked, enjoying the severe flush making it's way across his trapped Meister's face. "You really gave it to me good back in the kitchen... I think that calls for some payback, don't you?"

"Wh-Wha-? What are you doing?" Maka stuttered, worried now as his face drew nearer.

Soul didn't dignify her question with a response. Instead he leaned ever closer, and without much ado, kissed her softly on the nose. He then drew back and let her free, half-expecting a Maka-chop for his actions (which had been spontaneous and unplanned and, he now realised, stupid beyond belief – but in his defence, her jealousy had been quite endearing). And perhaps, had Maka not been so stunned, he might have gotten one. But as it was she couldn't move, and so he was spared for the time being.

Knowing when it was best to beat a hasty retreat, Soul snaked his way out of her reach and back towards the relative safety of their sitting room. Before he left, however, he couldn't help but leave her with a final remark – something to think about while she regained some sense of clarity.

"It's not cool to be jealous Maka. Especially when you're fine just the way you are."

And as she lay there on her bed, thinking over the peculiar events again and again, and how easily they seemed to have vanquished her temper, Maka mused that she shouldn't be surprised Soul was so well informed of her innermost feelings.

Their souls _were_ linked after all – for better or worse.

-X-


	3. Yellow

-X-

_Feeling yellow_

_I'm confused inside_

_A little hazy but mellow_

_When I feel your eyes on me_

-X-

It was totally ridiculous. The very idea bordered on the insane.

Why? Well because she was Maka and Soul was Soul and that was the order of things. She was quiet, bookish and – as she'd been reminded so often – a rather flat-chested, weedy excuse for a girl. Soul on the other hand was cynical, lazy and more into _women_ whose chests and hips were both at least five times the size of their brains.

And that was fine, because those things weren't what their relationship was built on. They were Meister and Weapon, a combination made from overlapping interests, mutual understanding, and a friendship made all the stronger by their inherent differences. They found the personality clash intriguing and that, ultimately, was what kept them a together as a team. Romantic notions... physical attraction (God forbid)... anything past the boundaries of an amicable friendship had never even come into it.

Before now.

The party had been suggested and hosted by Kid, who'd been dragged off to his room by the ever-faithful Liz and Patti some time ago to recover in peace – Black Star had knocked one of his pictures from the wall, thus infringing on his symmetrical world and sending him into a state of psychotic overload. It had been an enjoyable affair for the most part. A casual get together between friends, with snacks and banter, a few games, and some alcohol that no one owned up to bringing but most partook of. Soul included, naturally.

Maka supposed, given the circumstances, that she could put his odd behaviour down to the liquor. But there were two huge problems with that thesis right off the bat:

1.) He hadn't actually drunk that much. Certainly not as much as Black Star, who was now hanging upside down from Death the Kid's (rather sturdy) chandelier by the hem of his shorts, snoring like a tractor. On a side note, how the assassin had gotten there was a memory Maka would treasure to her dying day – and one she would learn from should she ever feel the urge to mess with Liz's hair.

2.) She really didn't want to. She wanted to believe the crazier notion – the one that had Soul staring intently at her because he _wanted _to. Because in all honesty he was quite good-looking, and although their relationship was strictly platonic, she'd be lying if she said she'd never secretly hoped for something more. They were practically a couple anyway... just without the fun parts. (The blush that coloured her cheeks at this abnormally dirty-minded thought did nothing to dissuade Soul's intense stare – in fact she thought she saw him smirk, as if he'd heard the obscene idea from where he sat).

She quite enjoyed her partner's attentions if she was being honest. It made her feel good inside – warm and fuzzy (not to sound too cliché). The feel of his garnet eyes on her was ticklish, like a feather against her skin, and she _really_ liked it. She could almost trick herself into believing he likedher, not just as a Meister or as a friend, but as something more – something altogether forbidden.

But of course that was impossible. Absolute nonsense really. She was Maka Albarn. Maka tiny-tits bookworm Albarn. And he was Soul Eater Evans, cool, suave and totally unattainable to the likes of her. They were partners and that was it. He was probably just toying with her; messing with her head to get a rise out of her. Soul was weird that way, especially considering he knew Maka's rises usually included Maka-chops to the cranium.

As the night progressed into the early hours of the next day, they were eventually rejoined by Kid, who regarded the strung up Black Star with little more than a raised eyebrow before informing them all that 'the hour was late and they should all return to their own homes now'. Maka wasn't fooled by their host's stony politeness and she doubted the others were either. In Kid talk that meant 'get the hell out so I can tame the asymmetrical mess you've made of my mansion!'. And being a girl with a firm grasp on her sense of self-preservation, Maka was only too happy to oblige.

It was a group effort to retrieve their comatose friend from his perch on Kid's ceiling, but after much difficult manoeuvring (and some colourful cursing), they finally freed him and surrendered him to the capable hands of his Weapon, Tsubaki. Goodbyes were spread heartily – or in the agitated shinigami's case, hastily – and they all went their separate ways, headed for home and (at least in Black Star's case) hangovers.

Maka had assumed, quite fairly, that the end of the party would signal the return of reality. Fleetingly sad as it made her, she reckoned Soul's unwavering gaze throughout the affair was due to an outside source. It was not unknown for Black Star, Liz or even Patti to issue him dares on occasion, and Soul had never backed down from a dare even when they'd been apt to get him killed (like the time she'd caught him rummaging through her underwear drawer for example).

But to her surprise and delight and dismay, Soul continued to stare at her even as they made their way through the silent streets back to their apartment. She could feel his calculating eyes on her back as she walked slightly ahead of him, the burning quality of the sensation both exciting and frightening her. Maka had suffered many injuries in her time as a Meister – cuts, bruises, burns, breaks – but she'd never been stabbed in the back before (either figuratively or literally). She imagined it would feel similar to what she felt now.

Going with her better judgement for a change, Maka decided to refrain from mentioning it. Maybe he really _was_ just a little drunk. It certainly seemed the most likely explanation at that point. Maybe – though she knew he'd deny it and wouldn't like her saying it – he was just a lightweight when it came to alcohol.

When at last they reached the apartment half an hour later – Maka tired and confused, head full of conflicting thoughts that more or less centred around her white-haired soul mate – she fished self-consciously in her little black clutch bag for the door key. Finding it, she thrust it in the keyhole with a sleepy heavy-handedness, casting a cursory glance over her shoulder despite her best efforts not to, hoping in equal measures that Soul was and was not still looking at her.

As it turns out, he wasn't. In the dimly lit close his carmine eyes seemed to glow, but that almost demonic focus was directed at something off to his right, glaring at it unblinkingly in a way that made Maka think whatever it was had just mortally offended him.

She was disappointed.

She was relieved.

_How's that for vacillation?_

Shaking her head at herself and her ambiguousness, Maka opened the door wide and unceremoniously tossed her bag on the kitchen table. She kicked her shoes off lazily, dumping them next to the door (which was something she usually scolded Soul for) and turned, meaning to tell the glaring Scythe to get his butt to bed before she locked him out.

But when she faced the doorway she found it empty.

Soul had gone to bed already.

She wouldn't deny that she was just the tiniest bit offended. He'd had the cheek to stare at her like a madman for ninety percent of the evening, and then just like that he goes off to bed without so much as a 'goodnight'? What the hell was that all about? She was half-tempted to march to his bedroom and demand an explanation, but quickly vetoed the idea. It was late, she was tired and he was probably intoxicated. Nothing good could come from starting an argument under those conditions. She would wait till morning; _then_ she'd let him have it about his atrocious behaviour.

With a non-committal shrug, Maka locked the door and hung the key on the hook beside the frame. She stretched her arms above her head, grimacing as a series of satisfying 'pops' sounded along the length of her spine, and slowly turned on clumsy feet in the direction of her bedroom...

… to find her path blocked.

Soul was staring at her again. Staring at her in a way that was infinitely creepier (and, she silently added, infinitely more thrilling) than before. She suppressed a little squeak of surprise, and took a few reflexive steps backwards, shocked by his sudden appearance.

"What in the name of – what are you _doing, _Soul?" Maka gasped, heart beating erratically in her chest – and not just because he'd scared the life out of her.

Taking slow, deliberate steps, Soul began to encroach on her personal space. It was not something she usually condoned, given her extreme distrust of men, but the look of... of... _intensity _for want of a better word, on his usually indifferent features made her unable to do anything but retreat until her back was flush against the closed door. He held her hesitant gaze boldly, confidently, while Maka debated the benefits of braining him with the skull-pattern umbrella standing conveniently to her left.

Almost as if he sensed the violence in her train of thought, Soul's hands shot up and latched onto her upper arms, effectively pinning her down. Naturally she struggled, fiercely at first (starting to believe the black blood had somehow taken hold of him again) but then with less conviction when she saw his distinctly _sane_ wince as her knee grazed a sensitive area.

"Quit thrashing, woman." he mumbled irately, before pitching forward and capturing her lips firmly with his own.

Maka blinked. Once, twice, three times. But no matter how she tried, she couldn't seem to wake from the wonderful dream she was having. Because clearly that's what it was. A dream. A wishful fantasy concocted by her subconscious mind and her stupid hormones. Soul couldn't really be kissing her as if his life depended on it. He couldn't possibly be running his hands up her back in real life. And was that his... good lord, was that his _tongue_ pressing impatiently against her lips? That settled it; this _had_ to be a dream.

Or else her partner had finally lost every bit of his mind.

Either way, Maka made the executive decision to just go with it. Inebriation, a dream, insanity... whatever the cause, she didn't care. Who knew when she'd get another chance like this one? It was best to take it like it was, roll with it, and worry about the consequences later.

Poking her tongue out between hesitant lips, she was immediately met by Soul, who commenced a complex sort of dance that left her brain reeling and her heart racing. He was really good at this. Really_, really _good. Maka's eyes fluttered shut as she enjoyed the utter bombardment of all her senses, her very being filling with Soul's essence. He smelled amazing – like pine and earth, strong and comforting and masculine. She could feel his heart drumming beneath the hand she'd snaked between them; could almost hear the dark music of his soul thrum with every beat. And his taste... there was something altogether unique about the flavour of him. Something indescribable. Rich like chocolate, but also slightly bitter like salt...

When he finally backed off an immeasurable amount of time later (though whether it was immeasurable because it had been a very long time or just because Maka's head had sky-rocketed to outer space, she couldn't tell), she couldn't help the minuscule whimper of protest that escaped her lips. Nor could she help the utterly humiliated blush that swept her features.

The silence between them was awkward – unbearably so. It seemed to Maka that in the stony quiet, certain things seemed somehow magnified. Odd things, like how their coffee table was host to an odd assortment of hardback novels (most of which had been implanted in Soul's skull at some point or another) and questionable magazines. Things like the way their shoes mingled in neat pairs on the shoe rack she'd bought last month. It was strange... they'd lived together for so long, but she hadn't noticed how completely their lives had merged. When she looked at it that way... well, it really wasn't so shocking that something like this had happened in the end. Her earlier thought about them practically being a couple was more true than even _she'd _imagined.

"So... um... what was that for?" she stuttered, arms still pinned by her sides.

Soul considered her for a moment, and then released her with a smirk and a shrug. She couldn't be certain, but something told her he was _satisfied _with himself.

"Dunno. Just felt like it. I guess I wanted to try some of the 'fun parts' of being a couple for a change."

And with that he promptly left, going to his bedroom with nary a backwards glance, leaving Maka to stare after him open-mouthed.


	4. Red

-X-

_Feeling red_

_When you spend all your time with your friends and not me instead_

-X-

It wasn't fair.

He wasn't bitching or anything. Cool guys didn't bitch and moan like PMS-ing girls. And besides, if there was one thing Soul was used to, it was life being unfair. It was the way things were.

But still... it was so _unbelievably_ unfair.

He didn't know what made him angrier; the fact that he couldn't go, or the fact that _she'd_ gone despite him not being able to go. Sure, he was a Death Scythe now, and that meant they had to be apart sometimes – he totally got that. And okay, it wasn't as if he expected her to mope around their apartment waiting for him to get back like a neglected puppy. But _come_ _on_! Florida? She went traipsing off to _Florida?_

Shooting a glare down at the crumpled card between his clenched fists once more – the front of which depicted a rather mocking scene of a beach, with sands whiter than his hair, water as clear as sapphires and luscious palm trees that _had_ to have been airbrushed – he gave the familiar, feminine writing another disgusted once-over.

_Dear Soul,_

It read, and he couldn't help but snort at the sentiment. 'Dear' indeed! It was almost an outright insult to use the endearment when the rest of Maka's tidings outlined how she (and the rest of his so-called 'friends') had basically abandoned him.

_How's the mission going? Papa tells me you'll be back sometime next week if all goes well. As you know, summer vacation started yesterday (er... I mean the day before I wrote this). We all decided we should go to Florida for a few weeks – you know, fun, sun and all that stuff – so we won't be around when you get back. I packed your stuff (it's on your bed) so when you get done with your assignment you should join us. The address of the hotel is on our fridge. See you soon._

_Maka xxx_

And as if that hadn't been insulting enough, his 'partner' had had the gall to add a postscript.

_P.S. Don't forget to turn off the lights when you leave – I will _not_ help pay the electricity bill if you do._

That girl had some nerve! It was almost as if she were purposefully reminding him that he was stuck in Greenland – the single coldest place Soul had ever been in his entire life, by the way – with no one but a lunatic of a scientist and a fairly rotund Danish translator for company. Oh, he'd be joining them alright. He'd be joining them, and he'd have a few choice words for Ms See-You-Soon.

"Soul-kun...? Soul-kun! I need you to focus," Stein interrupted insistently, tapping his student and temporary Weapon's left temple with a gloved finger. Soul glanced up irately, squinting against the glare of the never ending snow-scape. "This is important. Jantzen is a tricky opponent – we'll only get one shot at this."

Stuffing the postcard in the pocket of his stifling (and grotesquely uncool) lime-green anorak, Soul graced the professor with a measure of his attention. He pulled the flaps of his fleece hat (also supremely uncool) further down over his ears, grimacing as they stung testily beneath the folds of thick, scratchy material. The reason he continued to wear such undesirable clothing? Well, as uncool as his current getup was, frostbite was infinitely less cool.

The three of them – Soul, Dr Stein and Erik, the translator – made for a funny sight, hunkered down in the four foot thick snow. And it wasn't just because they were all wearing the same neon-theme outfits either – which, Soul had been assured, actually served a purpose. That purpose being to make them easy to spot from the sky, in case they got lost in the snow and required a helicopter for assistance. Which was a relief, Soul had to say – for the first few days in this frozen waste land, he'd been convinced the horrid attire was Stein's idea of a joke.

But it wasn't so much what they were wearing that made them such an oddity – though truth be told, the brightly coloured thermals and thick woollen wear _was_ a bit of a head-turner (at least where he and Stein came from). It was the fact that together, they made the most unlikely threesome in the history of threesomes everywhere. They couldn't have looked any weirder as a group if they tried.

First, there was Soul, who was not only at least a decade younger than the other two, but also white-haired, red-eyed and jagged-toothed (which, let's face it, wasn't the typical look for a _human_ let alone a teenager). Then of course there was Dr Stein, a bespectacled, bolt-headed (literally), lab-coat-wearing, patchwork (again, literally) of barely contained insanity. He looked like a cross between a scientist and something that should be locked up.

But their third party – the man who was essentially the glue in their little pack (if not for Erik's reminders that he was costing them quite a pretty penny, and by the hour no less, the other two would surely have torn each other apart by now) – was something else. Erik was a man as wide as he was tall, which was saying something since he was easily six foot and then some. He had thick brown hair that reached his wide shoulders, and a matching beard with just the slightest flecks of grey. His eyes were dark and penetrating, set deep in a beefy face like two glittering lumps of coal, and his nose was large, squashed and rather red from the years surviving Greenland's biting cold. Overall, Soul's first impression of the Danish man-mountain had been that he was a man not to be trifled with. He hadn't been wrong.

"Let's just get this over with," Soul grumbled, blowing hard on his mittens in hopes that the heat of his breath would reach his numbing fingers. "I've wasted enough of my life on this stupid goose chase."

It had actually been almost a month since he and Stein had started chasing the homicidal maniac, Jantzen – Soul's longest mission without Maka to date. And indeed, it certainly felt like the entire endeavour had been a waste of time, seeing as the long weeks had passed without them getting noticeably closer to the goal. It had been a month of tiresome tracking with minimal results, a month of cold weather and mediocre hotel rooms and strange, foreign food. A month of sleeping lightly in case Stein tried anything funny... And a month of missing his Meister.

Yeah, he would admit it. He missed Maka. _A lot. _He missed the way she'd wake him in the morning with her harried shouting – _not_ with a scalpel aimed at his throat, which he was coming to appreciate more with each day. And he _really_ missed her strict approach to education (including his), because seriously, it was the only reason he was scraping by in class. He missed her cooking too; even slightly burnt as it was, her food tasted like home. He even missed the Maka-chops, because although they really hurt, Soul knew he was automatically forgiven for whatever he'd done to deserve them afterwards. The thing he missed most though, was just knowing she was nearby and that she was safe – now he didn't even know where she _was_, exactly, let alone whether she was safe or not.

Stein nodded seriously, features set in grim determination, for once not arguing with him. Frankly, they'd both had enough. Yes, it was good experience for Soul – that was the only reason he'd agreed to go. Yes, it was interesting research for Stein – that was _always_ the only reason he agreed to go. Had they, during the course of their uncomfortable stay in Greenland, retained the ability to care? No they had not. They were cold, tired and homesick. All they wanted was to get back to normality.

"Right. As I was saying, we'll ambush him from this direction. I predict he'll enter the village..." the professor broke off thoughtfully, scanning the map spread before them with an experienced eye. "here." he said, tapping the location with a finger. "Because there's a larger concentration of human souls living in that area. Erik, you evacuate the villagers to a safer spot – the village hall should be fine. Soul-kun, you know what to do."

Soul nodded, an eager grin splitting his face in spite of his sour mood. If there was one thing Soul Eater could understand no matter the circumstances, it was fighting. "Now you're talking my language, Doc. Leave it to me!"

His transformation was quick, but then it always was. Within seconds (perhaps even less than that) Soul went from a gangly, white-haired youth to an impressive, gleaming scythe – a deadly weapon that had seen many a foe fall before it. And as the three of them left their makeshift shelter beneath the cleft of a snow-capped cliff side, the wind whipping at them fiercely and howling in their faces, Soul thrummed excitedly in Stein's capable hands.

It was almost over. Thank _God_ it was almost over.

-X-

"Soul!"

Soul dumped his bag on the floor and looked his partner up and down appreciatively – and, it should be noted, not subtly in the least (Maka flushed a pretty red at his obvious appraisal) – trying to retain a hold on his former irritation. It was a difficult task, considering the look she was giving him... and the _delicious_ choice in clothing (or rather, lack thereof) she'd made.

After a six hour flight and a twenty minute drive, Soul had finally arrived at the hotel Maka and the others were staying at. Having spent the entire journey fuming over the injustice of it all (and nursing the extensive bruises he'd managed to wrack up during the battle with Jantzen), he'd been good and furious upon entering the impressive five star accommodations (which he could only assume had been paid for by Kid, as there was no way he, Maka, Black Star or Tsubaki could afford such lush lodgings otherwise). But all his pent-up frustration had pretty much dissipated the second he clapped eyes on his soul mate.

The instant she saw him her face lit up like a candle – which of itself was a real ego-booster. Her smile was blinding, all round cheeks and even, white teeth, her emerald eyes bright with genuine happiness... Soul dared _any_ man to stay irate when faced with an expression such as the one Maka wore then.

And speaking of wearing...

"Maka... what are you _wearing_?" Soul choked out as she hurried to unpack his suitcases for him (she knew better than to expect him to do it himself, especially if she wanted it done right).

The question was half-rhetorical; he really didn't need her to answer. He had eyes after all – he could see perfectly well what she was wearing. But Maka replied anyway, brow furrowed, a slight note of embarrassment in her otherwise level voice.

"I believe it's called a bikini," she drawled sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest, clad as it was in a fairly suggestive black bikini top. "And a sarong." she added, gesturing at the breezy length of moss-green fabric tied around her waist, through which Soul could clearly see... well, entirely too much. His most coherent thought at that moment was _'Damn! What a pair of legs the girl's got!'_. Which was odd, since he'd seen her legs practically everyday since the day they'd met.

"What?" Maka frowned defensively, picking at a loose thread on her top and missing the pained look that crossed Soul's face as she did so – much to his relief. "It's _Florida_, Soul. It's a hundred degrees out there! Besides, Liz got me it as a present so I couldn't exactly say 'no', could I?"

Soul said nothing. He tore his eyes (regretfully) from her skimpily dressed body and went to the bathroom, grabbing a pair of swimming trunks from his open suitcase as he went. As he quickly changed into his beach-ready gear (a wonderful improvement on his vulgar snow-ready gear), Soul came to two revelations simultaneously:

1.) He was going to have to kill Black Star and Death the Kid, because they'd seen his Meister dressed like _that_.

2.) If Maka kept dressing so provocatively, he was going to have serious problems down south.

But at least, he mused, he was no longer angry. Jealous anger was so uncool.

-X-


	5. Black

-X-

_Feeling black_

_When I think about all of the things that I feel I lack_

-X-

She was sure Blair hadn't meant it... At least not in the way it had sounded. Maka knew perfectly well that subtlety and tact were not among the seductive sex kitten's best traits (it went without saying what those best traits _were_). So really, she shouldn't be letting it get to her like this.

But against all reason, against all logic, it was still eating her up from the inside.

It was quite pathetic actually. Maka had fought witches, werewolves and even a Kishin. She'd stared death in the face and _laughed_. She'd had insurmountable odds stacked against her time and again, and she'd faced it all and won. And now, after all that, after _everything _she'd been through, she was being overcome by something so stupid. It beggared belief.

"_So if Soul-kun's the Weapon... that means Soul-kun does all the hard work, doesn't it? What do you do Maka-chan?"_

The thoughtless comment cut at Maka again, slicing her like razor blades as she wandered the quiet streets of Death City. It was her own fault, when push came to shove. She should have known better than to try explaining Weapon-Meister dynamics to someone as simple as Blair. Especially when she was all too aware of her own tendency to over-inflate Soul's part in their duo. She'd practically _invited_ the comparison.

Still, it stung to have her fears verbalized like that. To have them thrown out there in the open where she couldn't deny them anymore. Because that's what the real problem was, she knew. Maka wasn't wandering around at two in the morning because she was offended by _Blair_. She was just a cat, and like Maka had told herself countless times now, she'd probably not meant it the way it came across; the feline was a tease, but she wasn't cruel.

No, Maka found herself in the cold, sun-baked streets of the city that night (morning?) because Blair's innocent question had sparked and released the torrent of self-deprecating worries and fears she'd thus far tried to keep buried. She was walking her feet to the point of exhaustion because she found herself faced with the worst, most horrible thing any Meister could ever find themselves faced with:

The notion that their Weapon might not need them anymore.

Soul was strong; that was pretty obvious. He was a Death Scythe now – albeit an incomplete one – and if he really wanted, he could have any Scythe-Meister in the world become his partner. Now she wasn't big headed or anything, but Maka knew she was no slouch; she didn't believe for one second that she was 'useless' or a 'failure'. What she _did_ know was that she was a far cry from the most competent of Meisters. She wasn't awful, true, but she wasn't the best either. And didn't it stand to reason that Soul wanted, needed and _deserved_ the best? Wasn't it understandable that he might chose another partner to help him become a fully fledged Death Scythe, someone more suited to the job than her?

The thought that Soul might see things that way too terrified her, even though it would be totally understandable if he did. The fact was, she didn't want him to be someone else's Weapon – he should belong to _her, _Maka Albarn, and her alone_. She_ was the one who'd fought with him to collect a hundred souls (twice!). _She_ was the one who'd lived with him – and his bad habits – for so long, all for the sake of strengthening their soul resonance. And _she_ was the one who'd cried for him when he couldn't do it himself – when he _wouldn't_ do it himself.

And yet she knew it wasn't enough. Maka knew it wasn't enough, and she knew it never would be. She couldn't be anyone else for him no matter how much she wanted to. She couldn't be a super Meister like Stein, or a strong Meister like Black Star. She couldn't be a perfectionist like Death the Kid or a sexy temptress like Blair (perish the very thought!). She was who she was, nothing more or less.

Maka had never had a problem with who she was. Never. She actually rather liked who she was. She had courage if nothing else, and in her own, modest opinion, that was worth as much as the strength of Black Star.

But as Maka took her forty-second left turn of the evening, and met her third dead end in as many hours, she couldn't help but note (bitterly) that she would change everything about herself in a heartbeat if she could... if it meant she could keep Soul. She would be someone else – _anyone _else – if it was within her ability to do so. If that's what Soul wanted.

However it was impossible. Maka was Maka. She knew without needing to try that that's all she'd ever be. And so that's why she'd decided, unequivocally, that if Soul decided to leave her for a better partner, she wouldn't stand in his way. She wouldn't cry (at least not until she was alone), she wouldn't fight with him or scream or any of that. She would smile and nod and be happy for him, because that's what he deserved. It was a choice she took with some difficulty (hence the relentless street-crawling), but it was one she had made correctly.

Legs finally tired, Maka plopped herself on an upturned crate at the end of the alley she'd navigated to. The buildings either side of her were apartments, she observed – the fancier, more expensive ones with the terracotta roofs; the kind she and Soul didn't have a _hope_ of owning any time soon – and she wasn't surprised to notice that every window was blackened, the curtains drawn and the lights turned out. The occupants, like every other sane person at this ungodly hour, were clearly fast asleep in bed.

Overhead, the moon hung low with it's vicious grin firmly in place, blood oozing between it's teeth like a screen-shot straight from a horror movie. There were a few stars out tonight; tiny pinpricks of light in the otherwise total black. Maka was pleasantly astonished to be able to see them – usually, in Death City, the stars were invisible because of the glare from the street lamps. But in the alley where she currently sat there were no street lamps – the only light was from the moon, reflecting off the cobble stones and casting shadowy silhouettes on the fine stone walls. The scene was oddly appropriate... It was almost as if the world (the stars, the moon and all) were sharing in her dilemma.

Maka sighed. What was she _doing_? She should be curled up in bed, asleep. Or at the very least in the comfort of her own home. Instead she found herself in a dingy back-alley in the posh part of town, contemplating the stars. Maybe it had finally happened. Maybe she was finally as crazy as Dr Stein was.

_Well, _she smirked without humour. _That's _one_ thing I managed to change about myself._

Not five minutes later she was on her feet again, hastily marching through the twisting labyrinthine streets like a mad woman ( and no, the irony of the metaphor was not lost on her) simply because she couldn't find the will to sit still. Staying static allowed the black thoughts to catch up to her. She had to keep moving. She had to run from them if she was ever going to know any peace of mind.

Left. Left. Right. Left. Right. Right. Left.

"Oooft!"

Maka crashed headlong into a wall, tumbling backwards (very gracefully, it should be added) and landing on her butt. She'd admit it; she hadn't been paying attention. Her eyes had been focused on her feet and she'd been turning based on her acute geographical knowledge of Death City. By her reckoning there shouldn't have been a wall there – her inner map told her there _wasn't_ a wall there. But she'd been somewhat distracted of late, so she supposed it wasn't altogether impossible that her GPS was slightly malfunctional.

Rubbing her posterior and grumbling heartily (contrary to popular belief, continuous fighting did _not_ improve the strength or durability of the muscles in one's behind), Maka reached out blindly with her free hand to find some leverage to haul herself up with. She caught something warm and pliable, and used it to stumble to her feet, watching her step as she did so lest she trip or something – she remembered, all too clearly, clipping her head on the coffee table last week when her feet got tangled together after sitting cross-legged on the floor for hours.

Standing to her fullest height – and managing to do so without causing any brain damage – she looked up to examine her handhold closer...

And met the sleepy, grumpy and slightly nonplussed stare of none other than Soul.

It occurred to Maka in that moment that 'handhold' had been a better description than she'd given credit for. The thing she'd grabbed was Soul's hand – _of course_ it was – and naturally that explained why it had had an odd feel to it, considering her surroundings were mostly brick and concrete.

But she had more pressing matters to attend to. Like how she was going to explain her presence in the middle of the City at this time of night. Or rather her _absence_ from their apartment, which was the real issue. And just what, pray tell, was Soul doing here?

"S-Soul... I – uh – hey..." _Wow... very articulate..._

"Maka," _Uh-oh... _She could tell by the tone of his voice, by the way it trembled over the few syllables of her name, that he was unbelievably furious. Soul was usually a pretty laid back guy – when he got mad (_if_ he got mad) it was in short, mild bursts. But Maka could tell this was going to be more like a typhoon. "_What_ are you doing out here?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

"Walking?" she offered, voice light and innocent. "And, er, thinking?" she added, realising quickly that 'walking' just wasn't going to cut it.

"At 2.30 a.m?"

"I couldn't sleep." she muttered, getting a tad indignant. They were partners and friends and all, but since when was it anything to do with _him_ if she trawled the streets till all hours? He wasn't her keeper.

"_Couldn't sleep_? You're kidding, right? You can't be serious. You've had me searching the City for you for the past two hours because you couldn't sleep?" he exclaimed, eyes nearly popping out of his skull. Maka couldn't help but notice that he still had his pyjamas on (which consisted of some old, grey sweats and a baggy, misshapen t-shirt). He was wearing his black jacket, and a pair of shoes (no socks) too, but he'd obviously had no time to tame his white mop, which was messier than ever and falling into his eyes.

"Don't give me that," Maka snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "No one _asked _you to look for me."

Soul stared, shocked by her outburst.

"Are you hearing yourself? So what, no one told me to go look for you so that means I'm not supposed to? You're my Meister, Maka. It may come as a surprise to you, but I like to know you're safe. When I woke up to find you'd disappeared, what the hell did you _think_ I was gonna do?"

"You weren't meant to wake till I got back," she murmured.

"Well _excuse_ me for not keeping to the schedule." Soul shot back, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. "Look, let's just go home. It's late... I mean early... we're tired and grouchy... Let's just go back."

With that Soul turned on his heel and slouched off in the general direction of home, shoulders tense with aggravation. For a second Maka considered going in the opposite direction, continuing her night time trail just to spite him. But much as it irritated her, he was right. And if it had been the other way around, she'd have done exactly what he did.

They walked in silence, Soul ahead a few steps while Maka dragged her feet behind him – partly from exhaustion, and partly from the weight of all her failings. She couldn't deny there were a lot of them. She wasn't particularly strong. She wasn't particularly fast either. She was smart and she had guts, but what good did those do when she didn't have the skill to temper them with?

"Maka,"

She looked up, only slightly startled to find they'd reached their apartment building already. High above she could see their window, the only one in the entire block (the entire _street_) that was still lit – Soul had probably left in a hurry and forgotten to turn it off behind him.

"What is it, Soul?" she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest haughtily. She was in no mood for another lecture, and something told her the only form of communication she'd be getting from Soul any time soon would come as lectures.

But Soul said nothing; he merely continued to watch her for a few seconds, an unreadable expression on his face. Then, after coming to some conclusion, he nodded and led the way up the stairs, calling back to her as he went.

"Geez, you're such a pest, you know? But... you're still the only one I'd want as my Meister... mood swings and all." He looked at her over his shoulder and winked.

Maka blinked, gaping after his retreating back. She hadn't told him anything. She hadn't even hinted at the cause for her trouble, and yet somehow he'd hit the nail on the head. Was their soul link really that strong? Or had he just guessed? Maybe (_probably_, if she was being honest) his little comment had been completely innocent, and she was just looking into it too much.

Whatever the case, Maka found that she was feeling better. Much, much better. Because coincidence or otherwise, Soul's statement had sounded like a promise.

And like he always told her, cool guys didn't break promises.

-X-

**Okay, that's this series of oneshots finished! I know I said there'd be 6 or 7, but I realised there aren't any other colours in the song for me to use. :P Thank you all for reading; I really appreciate it, even if you don't review. ^_^**


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